


Harry's First Day

by FrancescaFiona



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, True Blood
Genre: "Organised" Chaos, AU, Bill's got a crush, Eric's out of his fucking mind, Merged Fandoms, Pam ain't teaching kids for nobody, Sookie's dead, Tara Sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 08:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaFiona/pseuds/FrancescaFiona
Summary: In a world where Lord Voldemort did not seize power, Harry Potter, armed with his best friend Ron, is off to Hogwarts, Louisiana's finest School of Magic.However, after an ... interesting first day, Harry's left with more questions than answers. Among them: Will Professor Northman ever find Godric's famous sword? Will Ministry Representative Professor Flanagan ever get the House Equality she dreams of? Will Ginger manage to round up the thirty rampaging (and apparently invisible) thestrals? And will Professor 'Lafayette' pur-LEASE stop matchmaking before Draco and Tara jinx each other into oblivion just to make it stop?





	Harry's First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy...

Harry and Ron, along with the rest of their year-group, were met at the Hogwarts gates by quite a stern witch, who's face transformed upon the First-years’ arrival into one of temporary friendliness to welcome then to their new school.

“Welcome first years,” she said authoritatively. “I am Professor Flanagan, Head of Slytherin House, Deputy Headteacher, Professor of Transfiguration and Ministry Representative at Hogwarts.”

She took a sharp, deep breath to steel herself as she gazed upon the new swathe of students. And they were scruffy ones at that.

 

“In a few moments, you will enter the Great Hall and you will be sorted into your Houses,” she said.“… Which is a _painless_ and _effortless_ procedure.” 

She added this sharply, knowing what older siblings had probably been telling their younger ones.

“Following this-“

 

The professor was cut off by a croak and a boy’s voice blissfully shouting “Trevor!”

 

Flanagan glared at the boy with a look that could have _boiled_ tarmac as the boy darted after the toad. The creature hopped away, only to find itself immobilised as a rubber duck. Flanagan smiled at the looks of awe on the students’ faces.

 

“As I said,” she continued calmly. “I am the transfiguration teacher.”

Neville looked up with tear filled eyes. Flanagan sighed.

“It’s not dead, just transfigured,” she said impatiently. “I’ll undo the spell after the feast. I don’t think anyone else wants to find that animal on their dinner plate.”

“Um, thank you,” said the boy hopefully.

 

“What’s your name?” asked Flanagan, imperiously, sensing trouble with this one.

“N-Neville Longbottom,” replied the boy.

Professor Flanagan gave a huff of disbelief.

“The Aurors’ son? Cr- _ikey_ , what went wrong there?” she asked unkindly with raised eyebrows.

Neville coloured while a blonde boy smirked. Flanagan paused briefly to let Neville stew in his embarrassment.

 

“Alright then,” she breathed briskly, deciding she had tortured the boy enough...for now. “If you will kindly follow me”. 

She beckoned the First-years forwards and the group tentatively fell into step behind her.

“And try to smarten yourselves up a little,” Flanagan snapped over her bony shoulder. “This isn’t a Kindergarten!”

 

-x-

 

After Harry and Ron were both sorted into Gryffindor House, accompanied by cheers from the Weasleys, they sat down at their new House Table to enjoy their feast. At the Staff Table they could see Professor Flanagan and another teacher deep in conversation. The man was looking at Flanagan with rapt, thought slightly misty-eyed, attention. Fred chuckled.

 

“That’s professor Compton,” he said. “He’s Head of Hufflepuff and he teaches Potions.”

His twin turned to the First-years with an impish grin.

“Yeah and everyone knows he _fancies_ her.”

Harry and Ron shared a look of horror. Poor guy!

 

By the time the feast had ended, and the eccentric Headmaster, Professor Edgington, had made his speech, Ron’s brothers had shared _quite a few_ funny anecdotes about the teachers. These they later told their new friends Neville, Jason and Hoyt who listened with glee.

 

-x-

 

The next morning, Harry and Ron shot out of bed and bounced down to breakfast, feeling excited, though not _nearly_ as excited as a girl called Hermione Granger who was Muggle-Born. She squealed with excitement at every piece of magic she saw performed, even those Harry and Ron took completely for granted and barely noticed. They shared a smirk at her expense.

 

They plopped themselves next to Percy, another of Ron’s brothers, and the twins. Harry looked nervously around to check that Hermione was nowhere near them (she was a little too high-voltage for his liking) and thankfully she wasn’t, though they could still hear her talking enthusiastically to a few of the other Gryffindor girls.

 

“Today,” she said excitedly. _“Percy Weasley_ said we’re having a sort of “taster day” with short lessons so we know our way around for _tomorrow_ when we’ll start out courses for real. Professor Northman, our Head of House, is going to come round and give us our timetables.”

 

She pointed to a teacher at the staff table, sitting next to, but decidedly leaning away from, Professor Flanagan who was frowning at a piece of parchment, with what Fred explained was her “writing-to-the-Minister face”. Next to _her_ was a sheepish-looking professor Compton who, rather hopefully, offered Flanagan a slice of toast, which she flatly declined. He went to try his luck with the fruit salad instead.

 

_“Ohhhh_ don’t do it bro,” sniggered George, and for an awful moment they thought that Flanagan had _heard_ them as she got up and glared around the room. However, she was just giving out the Slytherin timetables. They breathed a collective sigh of relief.

 

When they received their own timetables from Northman, they discovered that their first lesson was Transfiguration, _with_ the dreaded Professor Flanagan.

 

“But…” said Ron cheerfully, always the optimist in front of a plate of food. “If we get that over with _first,_ we don’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day!”

He was scooping scrambled egg into his mouth, he’d need his strength for this one.

 

-x-

 

Harry and Ron ended up running late to Transfiguration since they were leapt upon eagerly by a very chatty castle ghost, Sookie, whom they couldn’t seem to get away from. Finally, they dashed into the classroom, sighing with relief as Professor Flanagan was not yet present, though a snake waited for her, coiled on the desk.

 

“Thank _God_ for that!” sighed Ron with relief. “Can you _imagine_ the look on Flanagan’s face if we were _late?”_

“You may not have to,” said the woman who had instantaneously replaced the cobra. 

 

Both Harry and Ron were gob-smacked.

“That was bloody _brilliant,”_ gasped Ron, in awe.

Professor Flanagan smiled, though not kindly.

“Thank you Mr Weasley,” she said sharply, having immediately identified him as such.

Her tone got even _sharper._

“But I did _not_ learn how to turn myself into an animal by being _late_ for my very first lesson, _despite_ having been shown the way the evening before. Ten points from Gryffindor,” she pronounced triumphantly.

 

“But that’s not fair!” exclaimed another Gryffindor, who Harry and Ron thought might have been called Tara. “It’s not _our_ fault they were late!”

She gave the professor a defiant look.

 

“And you’d be correct,” said Flanagan smoothly. “And that’s where my teaching begins, because _I_ think it’s important that you learn that life _isn’t_ fair, and often you _do_ lose out because others around you are either incompetent, arrogant, uncaring or greedy. So yes, I _will_ be taking points.”

 

She looked at Harry and Ron’s disgruntled faces.

 

“Oh, so you’d rather have detention instead, alright then. How very _Gryffindor_ of you,” she said sarcastically.

 

“Yeah, Potter,” smirked Draco Malfoy, thinking that he’d found an ally in his head of house.

 

“Malfoy?” asked Professor Flanagan, though needlessly.

He looked _just_ like his father.

“That’s right,” he said, hitching the smarmy grin onto his face which he employed when he wanted to use his status. “You'll know my father, he works with the Ministry too.”

“Ten points from Slytherin!” said Flanagan cheerfully.

“But, professor, that’s … that’s _your_  House!” spluttered Draco indignantly, not understanding what he’d done wrong.

“Yes," said Flanagan cooly. "Funnily enough I _am_ aware of that, but I intend to remain impartial to the House of a student when I deal out rewards and punishments.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to protest but Flanagan got there first.

_“Your_ punishment is A: for attempting to suck-up to me, and _B:_ for the _elitist_ , _anti-muggle_ comments you were making in the common room yesterday evening,” she said icily. _“Yes,_ you are a Slytherin but you will _not_ feed the stereotype whilst I am at this school. Do I … _MAKE_ MYSELF CLEAR?”

 

Flanagan was almost shouting now and Draco shrunk down in his seat.

 

_“Nobody_ will receive special treatment in this class,” she said, stalking along the front row of seats, heels clopping against the stone floor aggressively. “And 'nobody' includes _you_ Malfoy. Your father may be siding with the Wizard Superiority faction of out government but you’d do well to remember that I most certainly am _not.”_

Flanagan was in full flow now.

“In _fact,”_ she said passionately. “I even oppose the sorting of Houses in this school. Some kids are stupider than others, I accept that...”

She shrugged reasonably as if that was an acceptable thing for a teacher to say.

“...But they should _not_ be labelled as such,” she finished resolutely.

 

“But Professor!” said Hermione, who could contain herself no longer, choosing to ignore the barb aimed at Hufflepuff. “The Sorting Hat has been putting students into houses since the founding of the school one _thousand_ years ago! It’s traditional to-“

“Ah, yes... _tradition,”_ said Flanagan, voice _oozing_ sarcasm. “You know, the love of that word compared to those such as… oh I don’t know…”

She shrugged in mock nonchalance.

“...‘Progress' and 'improvement'... is _one_ of the reasons that we can’t seem to be able to move on as a society.”

 

“But the sorting system has always worked well!” argued Hermione indignantly, who had been doing a _lot_ of reading on the subject, prior to her coming to the school.

“Really?” asked Flanagan with raised eyebrow. _“Really?_ Well, that’s funny, because three years ago a wizard by the name of Tom Riddle _murdered_ a muggle on _live television_ using the Killing Curse. Of course..."

Professor Flanagan tapped her food impatiently.

"...We covered the whole thing as a hoax, but it opened our eyes to the fact that within our _own_ government, there are those who wish to subjugate Muggles, along with other magical creatures.The sorting system is dangerous," she continued a little more calmly. "Because it is _divisive_ , it _segregates_ and it sends a bad message to young people such as yourselves.  _That’s_ the reason _I’m_ here ... and the reason why the Ministry wants to make changes to the magical school system, to make it more egalitarian.”

 

Ron looked at Harry in horror. The lesson had got rather intense for a Monday morning. _Monday morning._

 

Before Hermione answered, Flanagan held up her hand to silence her. Didn’t the child _ever_ give up?

 

“Miss Granger, before this goes any further…”

She looked down at Hermione with a sigh.

She wasn’t a kid person. She just wasn’t.

“If you _really_ want to argue then  _fine_ , start a debating club,” she said briskly. “But now you are disrupting the lesson.”

 

Flanagan sighed again in her signature tight-chested way.

 

“As a result of Miss Granger’s…interruption. I have _not_ had time to introduce to you the structure of this year’s course. Therefore, as _homework,_ you will read the course summary ...  _pro-per-ly_ …” she accentuated slowly to groans from the class.

“And you will summarise it in your _own_ words. For tomorrow, please.”

 

One half the group looked indignantly at Flanagan, and the other at Hermione. The young witch flushed under the hostility of her classmates which had been the _real_ point of the homework.

 

-x-

 

After their first “taster lesson”, (which was really more of a telling off), Professor Flanagan marched them to their Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom where Professor Northman was waiting. The professor was impressively huge and blonde with bulging biceps and would have seemed extremely menacing, had he not been smiling at the students. 

 

Awwww, _look_ at them.

 

“There you go professor,” snapped Flanagan. “Best of luck with this lot. I hope you can get a word in edgeways.."

Professor Northman smiled serenely as Professor Flanagan glared at Hermione.

“Yes,” said the wizard thoughtfully. “I think this group will be quite nice. There are a record number of Gryffindors this year.”

“I noticed,” smiled Flanagan humourlessly. “Good thing, really. Now you can try to win back the House Cup that’s sitting in my office with _quantity,_ rather than quality.”

 

Ouch!

 

Harry and Ron stared at each other with a mixture of disbelief and glee. It wasn’t often that you got to hear teachers try and put each other down like that. In fact, the way the two professors  behaved towards each other suggested that the last school year had ended _just_ in time to prevent a full-on _duel_ in the great hall between the two of them.

 

“I bet you were thinking of that one all morning,” said Professor Northman, with practiced ease as Professor Flanagan stormed off, without a goodbye, to torment some other children.

 

“Wow,” said Northman, finally able to turn his attention to his class. “Sorry about her. Come on in guys.”

 

Professor Northman gestured them inside his classroom. _He_ seemed a lot more like he wanted to be at Hogwarts. 

As they got a good look at the classroom, a very interested Hermione Granger turned to ask the professor what kind of skeleton he had in the corner but realised he was nowhere in sight.

 

“Where did he-?”

 

There was a clap of thunder and thick mist began to pool in the centre of the room. Their professor strode majestically out of it, clutching a sword.

 

“Allow me to …properly introduce myself," he said in his deep voice. "My name... is _Eric Northman_ , heir of Godric Gryffindor and Head of Gryffindor house. This year, you will learn to defend yourselves from evil! You will learn bravery and valour! And…”

He paused to smirk magnificently.

“...Perhaps even some of the Ministry-approved curriculum, if you’re _really_ lucky.”

 

This was an impressive entry, you really had to hand it to the guy.

 

“One day,” he continued at a more conversational level. “I will _find_ the mighty Sword of Gryffindor and return it to _Godric,_ the founder of my great House. And I hope that the following lessons with me will give you the … inspiration to find such noble quests of your own.”

 

“But…sir?” asked Hermione carefully, not wishing to burst his bubble. “Godric Gryffindor lived a thousand years ago. How can he still be…?”

“Ah ha!” exclaimed Professor Northman. “Because he was turned…into a _vampire_. He now lives as an immortal!”

He shrugged casually.

“I happens. I mean, _I_ was almost bitten once,” he added proudly. “In Northern Ostrobothnia.”

 

Harry and Ron shared a look. Was he _really?_

 

Professor Northman bowed in reverence to the mighty Godric.

 

Harry and Ron thought he was off his rocker.

 

“In fact,” said Northman. “You could all accompany me there, to find him! A _real_ quest! How does that sound?”

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Ron, eyes shining.

Professor Northman may be nuts but that _sure_ sounded cool.

 

Though _less_ eager to find Godric the Vampire, Harry _did_ think it would be worth suggesting the trip to Flanagan, just to see her _face._ He doubted that vampire-hunting in Northern Ostrobothnia was a Ministry-approved school trip.

 

Professor Northman proceeded to tell the students other passionate tails of vanquishing evil, with more the countenance of a viking warrior than a schoolteacher. Though Harry doubted that some of the details (like drinking fairy blood and ripping the throat out of a three-thousand year old vampire) were… _entirely_ accurate, he, along with the rest of the group were disappointed when Northman called time and led them, with long strides, to their next lesson.

 

x-x

 

After Defence Against The Dark Arts, History of Magic seemed fairly dull.

 

Professor Bellefleur rambled through some very half-hearted notes with incorrect dates using bad English, _all_ of what he said being a mystery to some, as he spoke with an _extremely_ strong Louisiana accent. 

 

Afterwards, and eager to wake themselves up a little with some fresh air, the first years trouped off into the grounds for Care of Magical creatures. However, to their disappointment, the teacher, known to all only as “Ginger” was having some sort of calamity regarding thirty thestrals which had escaped from their paddock and which, Sam, the game-keeper, frantically explained she could not actually _see._ After ten minutes of their teacher’s _screams,_ Sam though he ought to help and so the class was dismissed to try and find their way to Muggle Studies.

 

Muggle. Studies.

Draco snorted in _distain._

 

Because it was true, the subject did have quite a…reputation, and as a result the lesson was approached with mixed feelings from the First-years. Thanks to Flanagan, and despite Lucius Malfoy's best efforts, the subject was now compulsory. However, when the class arrived (late, although they had a head start), there was no teacher to greet them outside. They waited for ten minutes until it occurred to a brave student that they should probably just go in.

 

“Hey, about time!” drawled a voice from behind the teacher’s desk. “I should give you all detentions, though ... if none of you are particularly eager to be here ... I’ll let you off. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

 

The First-years _gawped._

Their teacher looked more like she was ready for a night at the Oscars than to tell them about muggle society. Her golden hair was rigidly curled atop her head and she was wearing a rather low-cut set of robes. She had her high-heeled feet up on the desk but removed them to address the class.

 

“Now,” she said in the same monotone. “Who here is Muggle-Born?”

A few of the class raised their hand cautiously. Hermione Granger’s hand shot up in the air.

Their teacher raised an eyebrow.

“You,” she said, pointing at Hermione. “What’s your name?”

“Hermione Granger, professor.”

“Good, make that _Professor_ Hermione Granger," said the woman, sounding pleased with herself. "You are this class' teacher for the year. Congrats.”

 

The woman slouched back to her desk but Hermione made no move to take the position by the blackboard that their professor, sorry, _ex-_ professor, had pointed out to her.

 

“There a problem?” asked the witch carelessly.

“But Professor de Beaufort..." began Hermione. "…Aren’t …aren’t _you_ going to take the lesson?”

Professor de Beaufort shrugged. 

“Well, _I’m_ not Muggle-Born so immediately _you_ are better qualified than me to take this class. Besides..." she said lazily. _"I_ have nothing planned.”

 

De Beaufort started absently spinning her wand between her fingers, examining her nails at the same time.

 

“But professor-“ started Hermione indignantly.

“Whoa there sugar, are you really questioning a teacher’s orders on your first day?" asked de Beaufort disbelievingly. "I should sent you to _Flanagan_. She’d whip your ass.”

 

Unmoved by Beaufort’s very un-teacherlike use of language, the threat was not strong enough for Hermione.

 

“…Then she’d kick you out,” added Professor de Beaufort quickly.

 

Now _that_ worked. Hermione scampered up to the blackboard and everyone took their seats. There were only ten minutes left of the session anyway.

 

Hermione said nothing. Perhaps Professor de Beaufort didn’t quite ... _appreciate_ just how daunting to was for an eleven-year-old to stand up in front of a room full of other eleven-year-olds and “teach” when she was unprepared and already ostracised by the group anyway.

 

“Well?” asked the professor.

“I…” squeaked Hermione. “I don’t know what to teach them!”

“It’s easy," said de Beaufort. "Just _talk_. Nobody has very high expectations.”

Hermione shook her head stiffly. She couldn’t do it.

Professor de Beaufort sighed.

“Fine!” she snapped. “I guess _I’ll_ have to teach then.”

 

Draco raised his eyebrows. His father was _certainly_ going to hear about this.

 

“Now,” said de Beaufort. _“Here’s_ one for you. Muggle _fashion.”_

She tapped her robes with her wand and they morphed into a showy evening dress.

“Tah dah!” she said.

 

_“Clothes?”_ sneered Draco, having recovered at last from the telling-off from his _own_ head of house, no less. “You’re going to teach us about _clothes?”_

“Yes, I find it a very fascinating slice of muggle life," purred the professor. "Think of it as ... _sociology_. You can tell a lot by a person by how they dress. For example…”

She stared at Draco in a measured way.

“The way you've folded the collar of your school robe tells me that _nobody_ in your family has had to wipe their own ass in several generations.”

 

Draco paled with anger. How _dare_ she talk about his family like that? His father-

 

“And I ain’t scared of your daddy,” said de Beaufort arrogantly, seeming to read his mind. “So you just tell him what you like.”

 

x-x

 

They were dismissed from Muggle Studies with five minutes to go (so how long did _that_ make their lesson?) and were left to make their own way to Herbology. This meant, again, that they weren't exactly punctual but Professor Forrester didn’t mind, she was in fact absorbed in growing a creeper in her long, brown hair in such a way that it would act as a set of curlers.

 

The Louisiana midday heat was _sweltering_ and so it was thankfully that Forrester had created a breeze inside the greenhouse, though it smelled just ...  _awful_. The source of the stench was quickly found to be a huge mud-sluiced pig that was dozing in the corner. By this point, though, the students didn’t even question it.

 

“Oh!” said their professor in surprise. “It’s you!”

She flitted over to the class with rather a sultry smile.

“Welcome…” she said. “To Herbology…”

 

To exaggerate her point, Professor Forrester lifted her arms above her head and caused all the flowers in the room to bloom. For the most part this looked nice, although there were some rather hideous ones near to the back of the greenhouse.

 

“You must be hungry!” she exclaimed. “Well, _do_ gather round!”

 

It seemed this session would also constitute lunch…which Harry noted Ron didn’t look too pleased about. I didn’t look to him like Professor Forrester was a big fan of sausage rolls. 

Admittedly, it could have _started off_ worse, since at first the professor managed to produce some nice, _recognisable_  tropical fruits. Ron snatched these up greedily, having been pre-warned by his brothers about Forrester and, as it turned out, he was wise to do so, because after that the produce became a little more…alternative.

 

“Dig in!” cried professor Forrester, thrusting handfuls of wiggling, stilton-smelling seeds at the students.

She threw a few into her own mouth and chomped appreciatively.

“Mmm, de- _licious_. Full of protein! Go on Miss Granger!”

 

Desperate to avoid a possible confrontation with Flanagan should she refuse to do so, Hermione squeezed her eyes tight and tossed one into her mouth, swallowing it whole.

 

“S' g-good!” she spluttered, eyes watering.

 

Then she went very quiet, clutching her stomach. Professor Forrester looked, the closest she probably could, to being alarmed. 

 

“You chewed it up well, didn’t you?” asked the teacher, concerned.

Hermione shook her head.

“What happens it you don’t?” asked Tara suspiciously, though Forrester didn’t have to answer.

 

Small creepers were beginning to respectfully work their way out of Hermione’s ears. The whole class _screamed_.

 

“No panic,” said the professor serenely, as panic _did_ ensue. “I’ll just find the antidote. Now…”

She hummed casually as she searched her shelves for the right bottle of potion to reverse the effects of the wriggly seed. 

 

“D- _do_ something!” shouted Draco, who had disliked Hermione immediately but didn’t really want to have to  _watch_ as she turned into a human piece of topiary. 

“Hold your horses!” said Forrester dreamily. “I’m an earth goddess you know! I know what I’m doing.”

 

Harry and Ron looked at each other in horror. Hermione was doomed!

 

Neville Longbottom darted forwards and began to tug at the plants, though this only seemed to make things worse.

At long last, and not a moment to soon (thanks to Neville's efforts), they heard a triumphant “ah ha!” as their professor, the so-called 'earth goddess', produced the correct potion. As soon as Hermione had been returned to her original biological constituency, Professor Forrester _regretfully_ let the group go because it was time for Potions. The First-years couldn’t get out of the greenhouse quick enough.

 

-x-

 

On the way to the dungeons, the First-years got extremely lost. It seemed as if Professor Flanagan’s “teacher guide” idea had _very_ much unravelled by this point. However, sensing that this may have been the case, Professor Compton sensibly sought the students out and gently managed to steer them to _his_ classroom, and away from the Owlery, which was where they were heading. Compton seemed fairly reserved and thankfully didn’t make the students question their sanity with every statement he made.

 

“Now,” he began in his friendly southern drawl when everyone was settled. “I hope nobody’s disappointed, but you’re _not_ going to be making any potions today.”

Harry, and a few other people gave a secret sigh of relief.

“In actual fact,” continued Professor Compton. “I just wanted  to talk about the subject itself.”

 

He took his position in from of the class and began to talk much more passionately. 

 

“Now, Potions is a subject, a _brilliant_ subject, may I add, but a subject where some will _really_ have a knack for it and some ... won’t. In fact, most don’t have the aptitude right off the bat, and nor did I.”

 

Professor Compton looked at the students slightly imploringly. He _really_ wanted them to understand.

 

_“I_ had to work really hard at school. I wasn’t as… academically gifted as some of the other students but I _persevered_ and I managed to get _just_ as good OWLs and NEWTs as those who were more naturally gifted than I. Here, I hope to create an environment in which you all feel comfortable and can achieve your very best.”

 

Compton beamed and then made a potion that caused a flock of bubble butterflies come out of the top of his cauldron. Though Malfoy later complained that he was “too boring”, Harry and Ron were thanking the stars that there might be at least _one_ teacher they could feasibly approach if they needed help.

 

Their next lesson was Divination in the North tower, which Professor Compton kindly walked them to.

 

“Good luck,” he muttered to them.

They wondered why.

 

But not for long.

 

-x-

 

“Come in,” said a mystical voice.

 

Fascinated, the first years entered the room. It was decorated with various trinkets and shawls and was carpeted in leopard print. In the centre of the…well, frankly it looked like trash, sat the main attraction which was the professor _himself_ , wearing a purple headscarf and preening himself with a fan of peacock feathers. Upon closer inspection, it seemed as if the wizard was wearing false eyelashes.

 

“Good Afternoon,” he said in an etherial, though decidedly southern, voice. “Welcome…to Divination. My name is Professor Reynolds but you good folk may call me ... _Lafayette,”_ he moved in closer and dropped his voice, eyes widening. “Provided the _Ministry_ ain’t listening.”

His eyes darted fervently around the room.

“Her spies be _everywhere,”_ he said, conspiratorially.

 

Harry and Ron looked nervously around the room, expecting to see Professor Flanagan, or maybe that snake she could become, but there was no-one there. They turned back to Professor Rey- er … _Lafayette_  who disbanded their confusion with a flourish of his hand.

 

“But!” Lafayette pronounced. “They won’t be here now, as I have… _foreseen.”_

He looked at them with a glint of determination and rippled his hand parallel to the side of his face for effect, summoning a crystal ball out of thin air. He was clearly a showman.

 

“This here be my crystal ball,” he smirked. “Well…one of them at least.”

 

He waggled his eyebrows and some of the students with older siblings (including Ron) laughed, however most, like Harry, didn’t see where Lafayette was going with that one. Perhaps he’d better wait until fourth-year for some of his better jokes, Lafayette thought, he wouldn’t want to _waste_ them.

 

“And with it,” Lafayette continued, making the crystal ball levitate above his palms. “I have been granted the privilege of being able to glimpse the future. Now,” 

Lafayette’s tone got more businesslike as he began, again, to fan himself.

“Somes of youse ain’t gonna be able to do that and _if_ you can’t…” Lafayette shrugged with theatric apology. “We’ll just have to find somethin’ else for y’all to do.”

 

Harry found Lafayette’s way of speaking a little hard to understand, but, as a proficient linguist, Hermione seemed to have no trouble and, as a result, she dared to ask him a question.

 

“Sir?” she began.

“Hmmm,” said Lafayette thoughtfully. “...'Sir', I likes it. Makes me feel like a _knight._ But please, Lafayette will do.”

“Um, Lafayette, is it true that you’re a medium?” she asked.

Lafayette stopped fanning himself and looked at Hermione with interest.

“Now, how does you know dat?” he asked.

_“You’re_ meant to be the fortune teller,” said Draco, huffily. “Why don’t _you_ tell _us?”_

 

Lafayette shook his head sadly. Now, some folks they just di’nt understand

 

“Now look here Honey Boo Boo, I see the future, not the past," sassed Lafayette. "An’ on top o’ dat, I ain’t got no control over what the universe...”

Lafayette tipped his head to the ceiling.

“...Want me to see.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. Then looked at the man in disgust.

 

Honey Boo Boo?...Honey _... Boo Boo?_

 

“Though I does know,” continued Lafayette, reaching for a jar behind him, stealing Draco’s attention away from the letter to his father that he was composing in his head. “Dat you ain’t havin’ the best o’ days so here.”

Lafayette tossed Draco something. It was a chocolate.

 

Draco scoffed and gave the man a look of contempt.

“You don’t _actually_ expect me to _eat_ this do you?”

“Nope,” said Lafayette calmly. “But I _do_ expect you to give it to Tara so she’ll consider your askin’ her to Flanagan’s “All Houses' Ball” in three years time.”

 

Both of the pupils in question looked _aghast._

“Well, I certainly _won’t_ be doing that then!” cried Draco, as his friends started to snigger at his expense.

Lafayette shrugged.

“Suit y’o selves," he said with a ballerina's flicker of his fingers. "The future can always change … even a good one. And in answer to y’o question Hermione...”

Lafayette gave a marvellous roll of his head to let his gaze fall once again on the young witch.

“Yes, I _am_ a medium. And before you ask no, I can’t channel y’o dead hamster. I’m sorry.”

 

All of the class members left the room stunned, impressed or down-right outraged.

“To think _he_ thinks he got the right!” began Tara. “I ain’t never goin’ with Malfoy to any damn Ball.”

Harry and Ron sniggered. They didn’t think she would be either.

 

This amusing thought carried the smirking Harry and Ron to their last lesson of the day: Charms with head of Ravenclaw, Professor Leclerq.

 

x-x

 

Their teacher was waiting for them outside the room, leaning casually against the wall with her hand on her hip and the earpiece of a pair of sunglasses clamped between her teeth. She looked like a movie star from the thirties with her tailored robes and styled ginger hair. Upon noticing the curled hair, the first-years became extremely nervous, thinking they may be in for another Muggle Studies experience (“Professor” de Beaufort had made quite the impression upon the young people), however they weren’t. This lesson would be…different.

 

“Well how do you do?” gushed Professor Leclerq through scarlet lips. “Aren’t you just the _sweetest!”_

Harry and Ron looked at each other with revulsion. S- _Sweetest?_

“Come!” beckoned Professor Leclerq with a flash of equally red nail polish. 

 

Charms was apparently not taking place in a _classroom_ but in a kind of parlour with a long table, set with afternoon tea.

 

“Please take a seat!” invited the professor, making herself comfortable at the head of the table.

The students filled the seats from the _opposite_ end first but the table was (suspiciously) exactly the right size to mean that the last two pupils filled up the seats next to Professor Leclerq. These two happened to be the _least_ popular so it seemed that Hermione and Neville would be taking the brunt of conversation with the teacher. Neville grimaced.

 

“So,” began professor Leclerq. “This is your 'Charms taster lesson'. Now, we _could_ do some writing but..."

She inclined her head a little, in light consideration of this idea.

_"I’ve_ always felt that with _my_ subject it’s better to _show,_ rather than tell.”

 

With a flourish, she tapped the table top with her ribbon-twisted wand and, all of a sudden an army of crockery and a tea pot danced its way onto the table.

 

“Tea?” she asked casually.

“Wow!” exclaimed Hermione, to whom magic like this was still a novelty. “It’s like Beauty and the Beast!”

 

Professor Leclerq smiled as she poured the class’ tea from afar.

 

“Why yes! A wonderful story!" exclaimed their professor. "I _do_ recommend if any of you haven’t read it. A real classic!”

She looked very wistful for a moment.

“But yes!” she said eventually. “Charms!”

 

This teacher seemed like the sort of woman who was quite easily distracted and had a rather short attention span. It was a good thing then that Charms lessons were famously chaotic…though maybe that was Leclerq’s doing.

 

She flung a cake across the table using magic and it splattered in Tara’s face.

“Cake anyone?” she asked innocently, as pandemonium ensued.

 

Most of the students chose to grab cakes by hand but Professor Leclerq _wasn't_ having _that._ By the time most of the cakes were gone, the 'flinging charm' was the first spell that most of the First-years had truly mastered. It was at this point that the professor multiplied the remaining cakes with another charm and the food-fight resumed, with renewed vigour. Laughing breathily, Profesor Leclerq flopped back into her chair, satisfied that enough mess has been made for her to be able to demonstrate her _next_ trick.

“Scourgify!” she cried and the creamy-smears around the room and on the wizards’ clothes vanished.

The students were very satisfied with the lesson, even Hermione who felt she had actually _learnt_ something.

Professor Leclerq gave a curtsy as the students left the room, pleased that they were now off to _dinner._ Perhaps a re-match would ensue… She smirked at herself at the thought of what would be Professor Flanagan's _nightmare._

She could only hope…

 


End file.
